


Hate Glue

by tigereyes45



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Time Travel, anxious Simmons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:02:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22062253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigereyes45/pseuds/tigereyes45
Summary: Grif was just having his midnight snack. In the kitchens of the New Republic that he had been barred from. So when he has a visit from the one person who disappears more often then Doc and Church, well he's not sharing.
Relationships: Dexter Grif & Dick Simmons, Franklin Delano Donut & Dexter Grif
Comments: 10
Kudos: 34





	1. Donut's Around

**Author's Note:**

> There were talks on a discord server and this request just had to be done. :)

Grif was having his midnight snack when Donut cornered him in the kitchens. His grip tightens around the MRE bar as Donut shuts the door. Somehow he could be really creepy when he wanted to be. No one had seen him these last few days. Not since they made contact with the New Republic and the Feds again. Then suddenly he was there, in the kitchens, with Grif, alone, in the middle of the night. He wasn’t even wearing his helmet. As the two stand, staring at each other from their ends a weird feeling falls over Grif. Before the orange captain can say anything Donut was running at him.

Protecting his snack Grif whirls around. Donut’s arms around his neck pulls him back bringing his head down into his pink covered shoulder. He tries to pull his head free. His neck strains against Donut’s arms. When had he become so strong? The pink soldier tightens his hold around his neck. Grif’s vision was tinted pink in the low lamplight.

“What are you doing Donut?”

He pulls him closer and buries his head into Grif’s hair. Never had he smelled Donut’s lavender oil for so long. It felt like his nose was beginning to burn. How did Doc ever get used to this? Could Donut even smell anymore? Before he could ask Donut grips his shoulders. With ease, he pushes Grif away. His eyes were red and looked wet. Had he been crying? Wait, was he still crying?

“You aren’t our hate glue?”

“What?” Where had Donut heard that? Was Kimball demoting him? If she was it was probably because of Sarge.

“Something’s going to happen, but I want you to know you aren’t our hate glue Grif. I mean come on you were a captain for goodness sake.”

“Were?”

“If you were any kind of glue you would be hot, super glue! Strong and sticky enough to hold everything it touches together forever. You know the kind that gets everywhere until you’re trapped and you have no idea how you ended up that way, but you’re glad you did.”

Okay, something was definitely off with Donut. I mean the paraphrasing was still there, but he wasn’t making much sense.

“What are you talking about?”

For the first time, Donut stops talking and just looks around. From the MRE in Grif’s hand to the empty cafeteria on their right. His eyes narrow as he rubs at his chin. The hand of his still on Grif’s shoulder tightens.

“Wait, where are we?”

“Uh, the New Republic’s kitchens.”

“Oh shoot. I went too far back. I thought we were at our bases?”

“You mean the barracks?”

Donut pulls his hand back. The freezer kicks back on. Grif jumps at the noise as the humming replaces the silence. Donut brushes his hair out of his eyes. The dyed tips were beginning to lose their color. When did Donut ever let the dye come out? Finally, Grif notices the bags under his eyes. His bangs were longer than a week ago too. Way longer.

“Donut are you okay?”

“Yeah just still getting used to this time-traveling thing.”

“What?”

Donut takes a few steps back. He holds out his hands over the stove. Grif blinks and suddenly there was a pink and purple swirling portal there. Out pops his helmet and a gun. They land in his hands as if they had always been there. He swings his helmet back on before leaning in on his hand through the portal.

“See you in the morning Grif. Remember, you aren’t hate glue. You’re hot glu-” His words are cut off as he swings through the portal. It closes with a snap that somehow sounds sassy. Once again Grif finds himself alone. He’s just not hungry anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life has slowed down. Finally, they were back on chorus after the whole time-traveling fiasco and Simmons.... Well, he had been spending his time avoiding a certain Grif. Not anymore. They needed to talk. So here it goes,

It was weeks before Simmons found himself standing outside his bedroom door, unsure if he should even go in. There had been plenty of awkward incidents between him and Grif. When you spend the last few years with someone, typically in close quarters, there’s bound to be a few. Yet since that battle with the blues and reds, there’s been more. A lot more.

How are you supposed to talk to someone who thinks he’s only around to be hated? The obvious answer is the same way as always. There should be nothing different between them. Simmons is still Simmons and Grif…. Well, he’s always been the downtrodden pessimist. There was absolutely no real reason for anything to change. Yet here he is pacing outside of their bedroom door as his footsteps echo down throughout the hall in a constant beat. Okay, he needs to think. This is ridiculous. It’s just Grif in there. They don’t even have to talk about the hate glue comment. Not if he doesn’t want to.

Simmons’ hands move up and down. Fingers linger on the latches around his helmet. Stifling panic rushes them up so he can remove it, only for another thought to distract him and drag his hands back down. Ever closer to the pit in his stomach. Weeks of this inner turmoil. This absolute chaos. The never-ending indecision driving him mad.

“Simmons?”

Just like that, his nerves kick into overdrive. For some reason, the orange-clad soldier didn’t have his helmet on. His eyes decide to rest on Grif’s shoulder, looking into their room. Simmons takes a deep breath. He could do this. As long as those honey-brown eyes don’t meet his then he could do this. The conversation needs to be had. Simmons wrings his hands together. Just an ounce more of strength and they would probably pop right off his hands. Then he would just have fingerless stumps. Then he wouldn’t be able to shake Sarge’s hand or salute, well salute maybe but it would look weird. If he doesn’t have fingers how would he scratch his back? A stump can’t scratch just right everyone knows that.

“-kay there?”

There’s a knock as Grif taps the top of his shoulder armor. The slow ticking pulls his attention back to the matter at hand. Quickly as if struck Simmons tears his hands free of each other. He takes a deep breath. There was a reason why he was here.

“Yeah. Hey, uh, can we talk.” A flash of yellow and suddenly Grif was being shoved out towards him. Simmons’ body reacts naturally. It pulls away instantaneously. An arm crashes into his chest.

“Damn it sis watch where yer goin’!”

Kai rolls her eyes as she adjusts a tank top strap that was falling down her arm. When her and Grif stand side by side it was clear who was taller. Since Grif was still leaning against Simmons his sister looks a lot taller than him than normal. Neither were close to being as tall as himself but Simmons could imagine how much fun Kai probably had at Grif’s expense as children.

“Fuck off Grif, you were blocking the doorway.”

“Yeah cause I was talking to Simmons.”

“It’s his room too, just argue inside it. Sheesh.”

“No one said anything about an argument!” Grif pulls his arm off of Simmons to shove her with it. “Why don’t you go and hang out with the blues again?”

“Washington has them doing laps. Again. He’s worried that because of his condition someone’s gonna catch us off-guard.”

Grif folds his arms over his chest. As he leans against the door frame once more he looks relaxed again. “We are literally always caught off guard. Every single time someone attacks us.” The words were spoken with a tone so careless that it would have made Wash fidget.

“Yeah well you guys are dumbasses, and I’m not running laps when there’s business to do”

“Trying to get Locus to sleep with you isn’t business.” The look on Grif’s face was pure exhaustion. It was clear he had been through Kai’s antics tens of times. Perhaps even more before he left.

That had been another issue. Grif lied. Not just to the others but even to Kai. Knowing that the secret of how he came into the army was kept even from his family probably should’ve made Simmons feel better about knowing. If he wasn’t his closest friend it would have. The former captain had known this man for years though. Not only had Grif been willing to abandon them when he hadn’t agreed with trying to save Church, but he had still been keeping secrets. Maybe he still was. Did Simmons even know him at all?

He shakes his head. Now wasn’t the time for that. They needed to talk about the hate glue issue. When he was focused Kai was leaving. She was flipping them off with one hand and flicking her phone screen in the other. Grif wasn’t watching her. His eyes were centered in on Simmons with a face of curiosity and what Simmons would assume is contentedness.

It was strange seeing him any sort of happy nowadays.

“Hey.”

“Uh, h-hey.”

“Been a while since I’ve seen you by our room. Thought maybe Sarge or Kimball agreed to finally get you one of your own.”

“First off there isn’t enough space. If I want a different room I would have to bunk with either Sarge or Locus.”

Grif seemingly sinks further into the door frame. It was strange seeing him react so much to his words. Then again usually they both always had their armor on. Now it was only Simmons with any chance of hiding his reactions at all. He just has to keep it all in his face. Forcing his hands and arms to stop moving the other soldier attempts to keep his tone steady. It was strange, not being frank with Grif. It was bewildering to imagine him being affected by something as small as words. Mistakenly Simmons had only ever assumed the others’ words just bothered him. Occasionally Donut too but typically the pink soldier was able to beat anything off. Mentally he chastises himself for just thinking of the ways Donut could make that sound wrong.

“So, where’ve you been staying?”

“To be honest, wherever I fall asleep. On the couch once, in the garage more than a few times, also Grey’s office twice now. She threatened to take all my unnecessary appendages if she caught me a third time.” Grif just nods along as he talks. Long, brown curly locks keep his head up. No matter how much Grif pushes his head back those locks would keep it warm, and away from the metal. He didn’t put up much of a fight against them. That was just like Grif, just going with things.

“So that’s why you’re back? I don’t know Simmons I’ve enjoyed having a room to myself. Maybe you can work something out with Doctor Crazy.”

“Grif come on! It’s my room too.” He hates how much it sounds like he’s whining.

“It was, but last time I checked you haven’t been in here since we moved in.” He smiles. “You forgot your clothes, didn’t you? That’s why you’re still in your armor.” Simmons hadn’t even thought about changing his clothes. With how long they’ve gone in the past without changing, it was easy to forget it in his goal to keep busy and away. Now that he was thinking about it Grif wasn’t wearing his favorite shirt. Which means he had done laundry. It’s creepy thinking that at this moment Grif might be cleaner then he was. The sensation to shower for an hour was aggravatingly strong now.

“No!”

Grif smiles. It’s small but his eyes light up with it. Maybe he just couldn’t be bothered to move his muscles any more than that. The thought was somewhat comforting. Simmons realizes it might be sadistic but that was how he’s thought about Grif for so long. It, it was comforting. Familiar.

“Yeah sure.” Grif kicks himself off of the frame while pushing the door open. The actions flow out in one fluid motion. Simmons pushes surprise down as he spies his favorite outfit set out folded neatly on his bed. His vision darts back and forth quickly from Grif to his bed.

“Donut folded them when he came by and saw you weren’t here.”

“Oh, uh,” Donut of course. “I’ll thank him later.”

“Yeah.” Grif picks up a plastic wrap choclate debbie cake from the drawer. Opening it up he drops onto his bed. It only take a moment for his fellow soldeir to get perfectly placed. Meanwhile here he was still nervous. Just blurt the words out. Just say it.

“Grif?” Simmons picks up his clothes. He presses them tightly against his chest. Embuing them with all his nerves, Simmons holds to create at least the illusion of courage. Enough to trick himself.

“Yeah?” Grif was reaching crunching the plastic up.

“Wehavetotalk!” Spinning on the heels of his feet he turns to see Grif.

“ ‘Bout what?”

“What you said back at the Blues and Reds’ base.”

Grif swallows the last bit of his cake. Limply his head hangs down. Simmons couldn’t tell if he was upset or just thinking. After his abrupt departure it was difficult to tell what he was ever thinking. Nowadays he clung to ever in-joke or passing phrase that offers just a scrap of the complacent peace that had once been between them.

“Which thing? I know I said a lot.”

“The uh, hate glue stuff. I,” Simmons stops and takes a breath. “I talked to Donut about it because it seems like he suddenly knows what he’s doing nowadays. He said to talk to you.”

“So you’re talking to me because Donut said so?”

“No. I actually was  _ avoiding _ you because of what Donut said.”

Grif’s head falls back. With a solid thump it collides with the wall. Grif doesn’t react at all. Not from pain or suprise or anything. Maybe he didn’t even realize what he’d done. Hard as it was to imagine someone not noticing their head colliding with a wall.

“So much for us listening to Donut then.”

“Well he did leave yesterday.”

“I know.” Simmons was grateful for his helmet. It could hide his surprise, and shock, and every shade of red it had been and will become.

“Oh, I didn’t see you at the send off.”

“I was hanging out at the back. I saw you guys. I’m surprise Doc didn’t go with.”

“Yeah, same.”

Silence lays itself down between them like a thick comforter. Why did Grif’s voice sound almost sad? Was he wondering if Donut would regret going like he had not? Or was he seeing more of himself in the parallel of Doc staying behind? He was sorry, but was that just because he was lonely?

“You know we don’t hate you right?”

“Pretty sure Vic had hours of evidence that says otherwise. Kimball might have a few records too.” His laugh after was cruel. It pissed Simmons off. Was he not taking any of this seriously?

“Grif I’m being serious.”

“So am I.” His head turns to look at Simmons. “You can’t say Sarge doesn’t hate me. Lopez too. Since you can’t understand him let me tell you, he does. He pretty much hates all of us. Besides I know you don’t want to have this conversation Simmons. That’s why you can’t even take your helmet off. That’s why you haven’t been back to our room for weeks.”

“You’re right! I didn’t want to have it. I hid from you. I thought given time it wouldn’t feel so important. That a new adventure would begin already and this wouldn’t be necessary. I was counting on it, actually.”

“That makes one of us.” Grif shifts. The bed squeaks as he moves his legs off of it. Now he was hunched over, staring at him. He almost looked like a kid in trouble. Just waiting for the lecture to be over so he could go to bed.

“Grif do you really think that we all only get along because we hate you?”

“No.” It sounded honest.

“Do you think we all hate you?” Simmons fingers grip his clothes out of fear. He doesn’t ask his real question. There were no way those words could ever come tumbling out of his mouth. They would reveal too much. Do you think  _ I _ hate you?

“No. I said it because I wanted to stop talking about it. Kind of like now.” That was practically admitting he was just lying so this would be done. “I left. Why wouldn’t you guys be pissed at me?”

“I’m, I’m not mad at you Grif.”

“Well,” Grif doesn’t say anything. He risks a glance up. Honey brown eyes look up almost fearfully. The room light makes them almost look like they were glistening.

“I don’t hate you.” As the words crawl out Simmons knows he should have phrased them better. Decades of problems, fights, words that can never be taken back. That damn song started replaying in his head.

“I know.” Somehow his head hangs even lower. Worry tugs at Simmons’ thoughts. Doubt dogs every word. No matter how much he tries to, he can’t recall a time where they had ever been this depressed in the same room before. Never has Dexter Grif looked so small.

“Grif-”

“I said it because I was angry, but if I got angry at you then that would have been it.” Silence encroached on them again. It’s strength obvious in the way it commands their involuntary reactions to it. Fidgeting for Simmons. The constant movement of Dexter’s fingers along his arm. Finally, Grif looks up at him again. His eyes were resigned. Whatever had passed through his thoughts somehow made him look grimmer.

“I thought you said it because you believed it.” If that was his idea of a joke then it fell flat. Flatter then Tucker’s pancakes.

“Isn’t it?”

Simmons bites into his lip. A light taste of iron flares up, even though he was sure he hadn’t bitten down that hard. “We didn’t fall apart because we didn’t have you to hate. We fell apart because they knew us. They knew us in a way our other enemies hadn’t before. Sarge wanted an enemy, a chance to die. Donut felt ignored and we continued to ignore him and Doc. The fact only Doc had betrayed us then. It is honestly surprising Donut didn’t join him before we all found out just how evil they were. They had separated the freelancers from us almost immediately, and kept the reporters quiet and tied up out of sight.”

“Sounds like they wanted to get you guys back to how you were at Blood Gulch.”

“They did, and it sucked. Preying on our weaknesses is why we fell apart. I have no doubt that even if you had been there, it all would’ve still happened as it had.”

“Maybe.” Grif sits up a little straighter. Opening the top drawer next to his bed his hand reaches down into it like a toy claw machine. It rummages around against the sound of wrappers inside. Was he looking for a specific snack, or was this a free for all he was mixing up first? When his hand is withdrawn there were different fruit flavored snack bars in between each finger.

As Grif looks them over he plucks out the one chocolate from all the semi-healthy bars. He drops it next to his leg and throws a strawberry across the room. It smacks Simmons’ in the side of his helmet before falling into his hands. With an ease impossible for Simmons while in armor, Grif tears his bar open and digs in.

“Well, this has been wholly disappointing.” The maroon clad soldier mutters under his breath.

“What did you expect would happen? We don’t do deep Simmons.”

“I thought maybe I could convince that you aren’t hated. Perhaps after a heart to heart, we would have some deeper kind of understanding of each other.”

“This isn’t a novel Simmons. When have things ever worked that way? We're reds and blues. Sim troopers. None of us really do deep. Or understanding. We barely do survival."

"I guess. So, uh, how has Sis been?"

"Fine. She’s different but, after what the labyrinth showed her I wasn’t expecting her to be the same.”

“Was it that bad?”

“Yeah.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Nah. I think she still gets freaked out at how easy it was for me to shoot myself.” He shrugs casually as if his words weren’t terrifying at all.

“Wait! You shot yourself”

Grif nods now looking back at the open drawer.

“In the labyrinth?”

“One of its mirages was me yelling at her.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Simmons stares at the ceiling. He pleads silently for any sort of guidance from the room. If a map could appear above his head guiding him through this conversation it would be the greatest gift in his life. Magical maps don’t just form themselves though. He knows that. Here he was, a man of science hoping for some sort of magical intervention. It probably wouldn’t be right anyways.

So he laughs.

The sound shakes the stress away from his chest. When Grif’s laugh joins in it makes him laugh louder. As the two begin a mini competition of who can laugh louder, Simmons moves across the room. He sits on the edge of Grif’s bed, doubled over. As his mouth muscles relax so does his shoulders. They both fall as easily as loose leaves ready to give up on clinging to their branch. When their laughs begin to die the two were both on their backs.

Eyes as sweet as sugar meets his own. Simmons had pulled his helmet off at some point. He can’t quite remember when, but it didn’t matter. None of this mattered. It wasn’t clear if Grif felt better about himself, but at this moment he looked happier. His laugh was genuine. Simmons could tell. You don’t spend years sharing room after room with someone and not learn that. Even if all the pain and insecurity hadn’t been clear to him. It was nice seeing him smiling again.

“You know who would’ve had a panic attack if they had seen you shoot yourself?”

Grif’s laughing slows into a couple of hiccups as he waits.

“Sarge.” Simmons holds his stomach as another laughing fit takes over.

“Fuck.” Grif rolls his eyes as he pushes Simmons away gently. “Wasn’t expecting that one.”

“He wouldn’t have even given you a chance to try and you know it. Killing holograms of you are easy, but he missed you Grif. We all did.”

And there he went and made it heavy again.

Simmons stops his laughing so quickly. Anticipation brings his body to a rigid, tense state as he waits. As Grif rolls his eyes Simmons’ nerves get dragged along with them. Another light punch to his shoulder.

“I know.” As he pulls his hand back a crunchy sound pulls Simmons’ attention away. The taller shoulder looks to see another snack bar. It rests comfortably on the blanket right by his shoulder. As if it belonged there. The sheets were surprisingly clean. He had half-expected to come back to a trash heap when he finally forced himself to confront Grif. The room wasn’t clean but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been.

“You should eat. You look pale man.”

“I’m white. Pale is kind of the default.”

“Whatever just eat.”

“Fine.”

Ignoring his growling stomach Simmons slowly opens the bar. As soon as the first one was gone, Simmons remembers he has another. Finding the other snack still in his left hand he quickly opens that one up and chows down on it as well. With a mouthful of food Grif smiles.

“I guess the doctor also didn’t feed you.”

“Does she seem like the type to share?”

“No, but neither am I. Usually.”

Simmons thoughts about the surprisingly clean bed are soon dashed away. A trickle of crumbs tumbles down his cheeks. They sprawl across the sheets like bits of sand tumbling free from their hourglass.

“I missed you too.”

Simmons was so busy fretting about the crumbs that he almost didn’t hear Grif. Thankfully he had. For once the nerd felt lucky, and he wasn’t about to jinx that luck. So he holds his tongue. As his body falls deeper into the bed he mentally marks this as a success.


End file.
